


he ain't heavy (he's my brother)

by melwritesthings



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, M/M, eventual bughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melwritesthings/pseuds/melwritesthings
Summary: "But looking at this kid—inexplicably called Jughead—glowering at him with blue icing around his mouth, Chic feels completely out of his element. At eight-years-old, Jughead gives off an intense vibe that Chic has never encountered before: the winning Cooper smile didn’t move him, and they sit in thick, uncomfortable silence."Or, Chic and Jughead join the Big Brother Big Sister program. AU, eventual Bughead. Inspired by a prompt from jeemyjamz on tumblr.





	1. The road is long

**Author's Note:**

> Hit-over-the-head inspired by jeemyjamz's post on tumblr about Jughead and Chic getting matched in a big brother program. Taking a little bit of liberty with the prompt, but super excited about it! I can already tell that RAS is going to do my man Chic dirty, so here we have non-creep Chic Cooper and eventual bughead. (You can find me on tumblr at chic-cooprs)

Jughead scowls as he passes through the doors at the Riverdale community center. He scowls at the banner reading “Welcome, brothers and sisters!” across the doorway. He scowls at the perky lady that signs him in and leads him through the center, at the board games and coloring books strewn across the tables, at the brightly iced cupcakes set out in the back of the room (though he takes one as he walks by), and he scowls at the older boy introduced to him as his “big brother”.

 

Jughead doesn’t need a big brother. He _is_ a big brother. And even though he’s only eight, Jughead is good at being a big brother. He makes snacks for Jellybean, brushes her hair before she goes to bed, and tucks her in when their mom is working late and their dad is out with his friends.

 

His mom thinks he needs a “nice older boy to look up to” though, and is forcing him to give up his Saturday to get to know his new brother. “You’ll like him, Jug,” she assured him as they crossed the tracks to the north side of town. “You guys can play and talk, and I’m sure he can help you out with your schoolwork. You can learn a lot from him.” But Jughead isn’t so sure why he can’t just hang out with the boys his dad is friends with. They’re nice to him; when they come over to see his dad, they don’t treat him like a little kid.

 

Because he’s not a little kid. He’s _not_. Jughead informed his mother of this time and again as they drove to the community center. She just hummed in response, until they turned into the parking lot and Jughead raised his voice in desperation. Putting the car in park, she turned in her seat to face him. Looking back, Jughead would remember this as the moment he realized that his mother was beginning to give up on him. “Please just try,” she said wearily. Jughead could only nod in response.

 

Watching her drive away, his face resumed its deep frown. This felt like more than a nice, new friend. It felt like she was turning him over to this Northside charity.

 

And when Chic Cooper bends down and stretches out his hand for a high-five, Jughead curls his lip in annoyance and throws himself into the nearest chair. Looking around the room, he spies several of his classmates, all paired with clean-looking kids in sweaters. He looks back at Chic, now sitting opposite him and wearing a smile so wide that it makes Jughead want to throw his cupcake at him. Instead, he stuffs half of it in his mouth and glares at his new big brother.

 

\--

 

Chic is not sure about this kid. When his mom signed him up for this program (“Think of how good it will look on your college applications!”), he assumed he’d spend a few hours each week coloring or playing hide-and-seek, and then he could go about his weekend. Maybe some time tutoring or going to the park for ice cream after school.

 

But looking at this kid—inexplicably called _Jughead—_ glowering at him with blue icing around his mouth, Chic feels completely out of his element. At eight-years-old, Jughead gives off an intense vibe that Chic has never encountered before: the winning Cooper smile didn’t move him, and they sit in thick, uncomfortable silence.

 

Chic has never met anyone that didn’t like him, and to meet with such resistance from a kid is almost too much for him to handle. He looks around the room in envy at his friends, reading, playing, and chatting away with their little brothers and sisters. It was so easy for them. What was with this kid?

 

An idea worms its way into his mind. He reaches for the stack of construction paper and box of crayons sitting at the end of their table. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he says softy. “I’m just going to draw. You can too if you feel like it.” Jughead doesn’t budge and Chic shrugs slightly. “Suit yourself.”

 

Chic is drawing the meal from Pop’s he plans to treat himself to after this strange day has ended (cheeseburger, extra fries, root beer float) when he spies Jughead grab a piece of paper. He watches the kid draw a couple of stick figures and what he thinks might be a dog next to a house. Feeling brave, Chic ventures, “Who’s that?”

 

Jughead doesn’t look up when answers. “Me and my sister,” he replies simply. Chic is momentarily stunned, not only that this kid is talking to him, but that he sounds so young. He almost expected Jughead to sound like a tiny adult.  

 

“I have two sisters,” Chic tells him. “Betty and Polly. They’re both younger than me.”

 

“Jellybean is younger than me too,” Jughead mumbles, still not looking up at him. Then, as if sensing Chic’s next question, he adds, “They’re nicknames.”

 

Chic decides not to tackle the subject of real names, not yet feeling brotherly enough. Instead, he asks about the dog.

 

“That’s Hot Dog,” Jughead explains as he draws a tree next to the house.

 

“I’ve always wanted a dog. But Polly and Betty wanted a cat, so we got Caramel. Little sisters always get everything, don’t they?” Chic thinks he sees a hint of a smile play at Jughead’s lips.

 

Jughead draws a swing coming from one of the tree’s branches and some clouds in the sky above the house. Chic notes something missing.

 

“Are you going to draw your mom and dad?”

 

Jughead looks up at him, finally, expression unreadable. “No.”

 

Chic nods slowly, trying not to betray his shock. “Okay then,” he says, returning to his own drawing. Jughead looks satisfied at avoiding any personal questions.

 

Then, unprompted, Jughead sighs, “I love cheeseburgers.” Chic sees him eyeing his own drawing and smiles. “Me, too. Especially with bacon.” He laughs when Jughead’s eyes widen in amazement.

 

They continue coloring for a few minutes, offhandedly discussing other favorite foods and how they can be made better with bacon, before a commotion at the front of the room interrupts them. A man barrels past the staff, careening into the room and almost skidding to a stop before Chic and Jughead.

 

“You trying to change my boy? Huh? Turn him into something he ain’t?”

 

Chic scrambles to his feet, stammering at the man looming over him. “You must be Mr. Jones. No, sir, I don’t want to change your son, I just… want to—to—“

 

“To what? Make him like you? Keep him out of the Southside, the place he comes from? We ain’t good enough for my own son?” Mr. Jones looks like he might combust in anger, and Chic has the feeling that his argument might be with Mrs. Jones and not with him.

 

Chic glances at Jughead, who looks like he wants to melt into the ground. He stares steadily at the ground, as if used to these kinds of tantrums. A staff member approaches the table, gently suggesting that she and Mr. Jones go somewhere else to talk.

 

“No, no, we’re out of here. Let’s go, Jug.” Mr. Jones turns to leave, motioning for Jughead to follow. Jughead looks up at Chic briefly, almost apologetic, before slowly moving to follow his father.

 

It would have been easy for Chic to let them go. To start over with a new, fun little brother and forget about this surly little weirdo. But Chic Cooper was not raised to take the easy way out.

 

He catches up to them in the middle of the parking lot. “Mr. Jones! Wait a sec!” The older man turns to him, incredulous. Jughead on the other hand, looks suspicious of his own hopefulness.

 

“I was thinking about taking Jughead for a milkshake or something at Pop’s. If he wants.” Chic tries to sound casual, like he’s not afraid that Mr. Jones will punch him in the face. He tries not to notice the way Jughead’s eyes light up when he mentions Pop’s. He tries not to wonder why he wants to grab this kid and run back home.

 

Mr. Jones regards his son closely. “You want to pick him, don’t you,” he accuses rather than asks, and Chic wants to throttle him for guilting an eight-year-old into thinking like that. He doesn’t want to be his father; he just wants to take him to get a damn milkshake. Jughead refuses to look anyone in the eye.

 

“Fine then, go on. Don’t be out too late. And don’t cry to me when you have to come back to the Southside after this guy’s done playing with you.” Mr. Jones moves to unlock his pickup truck, and Chic, turning to Jughead, wonders what he’s just gotten himself into.

 

He offers the kid a shaky smile. “Come on, let’s get you a shake.”

 

\--

 

Jughead has never seen anything so beautiful in his short life. He knows, instantly, what it is to love at first sight. He has a strange feeling that his life will never be the same.

 

Before him, bathed in neon light, is a cheeseburger the size of his head. It’s nestled in a bed of crispy, golden fries, and next to his plate is a chocolate shake with extra whipped cream. His eyes had nearly bulged out of his head when Chic asked the waitress to put extra bacon on their burgers.

 

He’s never seen so much food meant just for him. His mother makes dinner when she’s home, but she’s been working more and more lately, so his father is often tasked with meals. That usually means a bowl of cereal or a frozen pizza split between the four of them. Jughead goes to bed most nights with a not-quite-full belly.

 

Chic looks on in amazement and a hint of something that looks like sadness as Jughead polishes off his entire meal. When he catches Jughead eyeing his unfinished fries, Chic pushes his plate across the table.

 

“So, I know this day has been a little weird,” Chic begins, and Jughead snorts into his milkshake. Yes, the day has been weird. But Jughead is used to weird. He’s used to his dad causing a scene and his mom looking tired; he’s used to people questioning his name and staring at him when he inhales his food.

 

What he’s not used to, however, is people choosing to stick around after seeing these things. So when Chic continues, “but I was thinking we could give this a shot?”, Jughead can’t stop his mouth from dropping open in surprise. “I think it could be fun, this brother thing. We can come here, or draw more pictures, whatever you want. Does that sound okay?”

 

Jughead thinks for a moment. A new friend. One than can take him away when his dad is yelling, or when Mom is too tired to make dinner. More cheeseburgers. Maybe he could be Jelly’s friend too.

 

“Yeah, that sounds okay.” When Chic smiles, Jughead can’t help but return it. Maybe being a little brother wouldn’t be so bad.

 

Something behind Jughead catches Chic’s eye and his smile widens. “Hey! Look who’s here!”

 

Two blonde girls and a little redheaded boy approach their booth. “Jug, these are my sisters, Polly and Betty. And this is our neighbor, Archie. I think Betty and Archie are your age. Guys, this is my new brother, Jughead.”

 

Warmth explodes in his chest when he is introduced as Chic’s brother. The older girl says hello and smiles sweetly, while Archie gives him a wide, toothless grin. Jughead gives a small wave.

 

He turns to Betty. Looking at her, he gets a feeling similar to when he first saw that Pop’s burger. Something was about to change. He looks at her expectantly, waiting for a smile. Instead, she narrows her eyes, and looks from Jughead to Chic.

 

“What do you mean, _new brother_?”


	2. with many a winding turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up kids, this is a LONG ONE. (let me know if it's too long, once I started I couldn't stop) I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive any mistakes... and drop me a note if you think I need one/want to be it :))))

“I told you before, Betty. Jughead is not our _actual_ brother. You know that.” Chic shoots a wary glance at his little sister, who is determinedly not looking at him, but down at her shoes. He tightens his grip on her hand. “Come on, Betts,” he says cheerfully, “there’s nothing wrong with new friends.”

 

The walk home from Pop’s, usually just fifteen minutes, seems endless tonight. Chic had been surprised by Betty’s literal interpretation of his introduction of Jughead as his brother. More troubling was her instantly hostile reaction to him.

 

Chic was horrified to watch Betty curl her tiny hands into fists and contort her face in barely-concealed rage. She was the spitting image of their mother after she caught him sneaking in after curfew. It was terrifying. Betty looked Jughead square in the face and said, simply and chillingly, “You’re not my brother.” She then primly took a seat in the booth behind them.

 

Jughead, for his part, watched her go curiously before returning his attention to his remaining fries. Polly smiled apologetically and pulled Archie over to their booth, with the red-haired boy waving goodbye wildly. Chic rolled his eyes as if to say, “Girls, right?” and Jughead gave a little chuckle.

 

He was embarrassed by Betty’s behavior, desperate for Jughead to feel comfortable spending time with him. Still, Chic figured that all eight-year-olds are entitled to their misunderstandings, even his clever baby sister. After walking Jughead home and promising to see him sometime during the week, he returned to Pop’s to walk with Archie and his sisters. Now, in what Chic could only describe as the longest walk in history, he tries to explain his little brother.

 

Slowing his walk, Chic raises an eyebrow at Betty, hoping to elicit a more compassionate response from her. She scowls, and Chic is reminded of Jughead’s cranky pout from earlier that day. “Why does he have to be _your_ brother? Why doesn’t he have his own family?”

 

Chic sucks in a breath, unsure of how to gently broach the fact that some families are a little splintered, not made from freshly baked sugar cookies and bedtime stories like their own. Their parents are controlling and sometimes harsh, but Chic never feels uncared for or unloved by them. He knows that Jughead is dealing with something entirely different, and while he doesn’t want to upset Betty, he does want her to understand that he won’t give up on Jughead.

 

 “He does have a family, Betty. He just—“

 

“They don’t want him either?”

 

“Betty, that’s not nice,” Polly chirps from beside him, and Chic gives her a grateful look. He’s stunned—and a little hurt—by his sister’s words: Betty, like any kid, is subject to speaking out of a child’s ignorance, but she’s never deliberately cruel. Almost twelve, Polly is discovering the world of mean girls and gossip. But what he has always loved about his youngest sister is her massive capacity to love. Chic adores both of his sisters, but it’s Betty’s heart, kind and earnest, that has always made her special to him.

 

He stops and kneels in front of her, taking her hands in his. Betty is still refusing to meet his eye, so Chic reaches out and tilts her head up towards him. “What is this about, Betts? Why don’t you want me to be friends with Jughead?” he asks, and before he can stop himself, he gets angry. He can’t help it; he’s disappointed in her.

 

“You, Polly, and I—we have so much, Betty. We have big dinners every night and we get our allowances each month; we have books, toys, and games; we have each other. Some people just need a little help. Now, I know that you know all of this, so what do you have against Jughead?”

 

He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but by the end of his sentence he’s almost shouting. Betty’s lower lip, which had been stuck out in a near-constant pout all evening, is instantly pulled between her teeth. She bites down hard, and her chin wobbles as fat crocodile tears begin to spill down her cheeks. “Because,” she croaks, her voice laden with the effort of not giving into sobs, “I don’t want him to take you from me! You’re _my_ brother. You just don’t want sisters anymore.” Betty dissolves into tears, and Chic feels like an asshole.

 

He pulls Betty into a tight hug and rubs her back as her cries meld into hiccups. Polly takes Archie by the hand and pulls him down the sidewalk, leaving Chic alone with his little sister. As with Jughead earlier, Chic realizes that he’s been expecting the eight-year-olds in his life to behave and think like little adults. Jug may give off the vibe of a cranky old man, and he may have been forced to grow up too fast, but he’s still just a kid that deserves the chance to _be_ a kid.

 

And while Betty may already be alphabetizing her bookshelves and making to-do lists in pink crayon, Chic is forced to remember that she is also just a kid; a kid that feels _everything_ so much. Betty’s vast heart—strong, sweet, and open—also makes her vulnerable to intense emotion. Chic, and he suspects Polly as well, has learned to suppress his own sometimes-volatile emotions. Nearing sixteen, he’s lived with Alice and Hal Cooper long enough to avoid any show of what could be perceived as weakness.

 

But Betty wears her heart on her sleeve, and Chic loves her for it.

 

“Betts,” he soothes, pulling back and gripping her still-shaking shoulders in his hands, “no one will ever replace you or Polly. You are my sisters, and I love you. Jughead just needs a friend right now, and I _want_ to be his friend. Can you be okay with that?”

 

She sniffles and nods slowly, looking up at him with wide eyes. Chic beams at her, and delights in the small smile she returns. “Thank you,” he breathes. He stands and pulls her up, hoisting her up to sit on his shoulders. “Now, can you promise to try and be nice to Jughead?”

Above him, Betty is silent for a moment. “I’ll try,” she murmurs. Satisfied, Chic squeezes her foot and they continue their walk home in silence. Self-doubt will never stop a Cooper sibling from doing the right thing, he thinks somewhat sadly.

 

\--

 

A week later, Betty bounds down the stairs, nearly vibrating with excitement. It’s a sunny Saturday morning, Chic has promised to make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, and she has plans to play with Archie and his new puppy today.

 

She skips through the living room and follows the scent of frying bacon to the kitchen. She’s wondering if she wants whipped cream or strawberries on her pancakes—or both—when the sight before her in the kitchen stops her in her tracks.

 

Chic is at the stove, pulling the bacon from the greasy pan and placing it on a plate. Polly is at the fridge, pulling out orange juice and fruit. Her parents are seated at the table, sipping coffee and talking quietly. At the counter, flour on his face as he mixes chocolate chips into the pancake batter, is Jughead.

 

“You almost ready over there?” Chic calls over his shoulder. Jughead nods, carefully carrying the bowl of batter over to the stove, his face furrowed in concentration. “Thanks,” Chic says appreciatively, before noticing Betty in the doorway. “Hey Betts! Want to help me flip the pancakes?”

 

Betty grins: flipping the pancakes is always her job when Chic cooks breakfast. She moves over to where her brother is ladling batter onto the griddle. After a few moments, he hands her the spatula, and together they flip the pancakes. The smell is heavenly, and Betty decides that not even Jughead can ruin this morning.

 

That is, until Chic pulls the spatula from her hand and offers it to Jughead. “You wanna give it a try, Jug?” The boy nods, and Betty watches in disbelief as Chic pours more batter on the griddle—in the shape of Mickey Mouse, no less—and guides Jughead’s hand through flipping the pancakes.

 

Betty wants to shout at him that his is _her_ job, _her_ pancakes, _her_ brother. Remembering her promise to try, though, she swallows her anger and pulls a bottle of maple syrup from the fridge.

 

Breakfast is a quiet affair, with her parents doing most of the talking. They ask Jughead about his family, his school, and what he likes to do—he offers few answers, and Chic does a lot of the talking for him. Betty notices that the whipped cream on her pancakes doesn’t taste as sweet as it usually does. When the doorbell rings signaling Archie’s arrival, she leaps from her seat in relief.

 

She greets Archie and his new puppy, Vegas, on her front porch and nearly pushes them into the backyard. Betty figures that between the sandbox, the swing set, and the dog, she won’t have to go back inside and face Jughead again for the rest of the day. 

 

Betty lifts a ball to throw for Vegas and is cocking her arm back when she hears Chic. “Hey Arch! Mind if me and Jughead come meet your pup?”

 

She lets the ball fall to the ground.

 

\--

 

Jughead can’t believe his luck. His belly is full of bacon and pancakes, he’s been promised a Pop’s dinner, and he’s currently standing in the best backyard he’s ever seen. He can’t wait to being Jellybean here.

 

Archie waves him over to see his puppy, who licks the sticky maple syrup leftover from breakfast off his cheeks. Jughead laughs; Vegas reminds him of Hot Dog—always hungry, like him. Archie reaches out and taps him on the shoulder, then immediately runs from him. He doesn’t get very far before turning back to Jughead with a questioning look. Jughead realizes that he’s supposed to be chasing him.

 

He turns to look at Chic, who nods approvingly. “Go play,” he urges. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen.” Jughead smiles at him and takes off after Archie.

 

Vegas joins their game, and the boys race around the yard. Jughead is catching his breath when he spots Betty sitting on a swing by herself. She drags her feet on the ground as she swings very slightly back and forth. She stares down at the dirt, looking sad. Jughead frowns. How can anyone be unhappy in a yard like this?

 

He’s walking towards her before he notices that his feet are moving. Standing before Betty’s swing, Jughead tilts his head in effort to catch her eye. She looks up, green eyes snapping to his in annoyance. “What do you want?” she bites, and Jughead regrets his decision to come over to her.

 

Betty Cooper is a princess, he decides. She thinks she’s too good for him, he can tell. Jughead is overcome with a desire to push her in the dirt.

 

He thinks back to his dad on the night he became Chic’s brother, telling him that Chic would tire of him. His new sister, it seems, is already tired of him. Jughead feels a rush of worry. If Betty is sick of him, how long will it take for Chic to drop him? He resolves to be nice to his new sister, if it means he can keep his brother.

 

“Is it okay if I swing, too?” Jughead gestures to the empty swing beside her. Betty looks like she wants to snap at him again, but she deflates a little and nods. He hops on the swing and pumps his legs slightly, keeping close to the ground. He remembers falling off the swings at the park when he was six, how his dad laughed off his tears and told him not to be such a baby. Jughead doesn’t swing so high anymore.

 

Betty doesn’t move at all. “Don’t you want to swing?” Jughead asks her, amazed that anyone with so much to play with would choose to just sit on their swing set. “Chic usually pushes me,” Betty mumbles, still staring at the ground.

 

Archie, who had given up on chasing Vegas and was laying in the grass beside his sleeping puppy, sits up in excitement. “I can push you, Betty!” he cries, hopping to his feet and rushing to the swings.

 

Betty perks up at this, and Jughead is glad. When Jellybean is sad, his stomach twists into knots until he’s made her happy again. The knot currently in his stomach as he looks at Betty loosens when she smiles.

 

Archie begins pushing Betty’s swing, and her giggles turn to peals of laughter as she climbs higher and higher. “Jug, help me push!” Archie cries, and Jughead readily moves to join him. Betty’s pink dress looks like cotton candy against the blue sky, and Jughead can’t help but laugh with them; she looks like she’s flying.

 

Suddenly, she really is flying. The swing tumbles back towards them without Betty on it—Betty herself is airborne. She seems to fall in slow motion, her blonde hair billowing around her head. Jughead watches her face transform from glee to confusion to shock, and turns to Archie in horror. Archie’s mouth is frozen in a perfect “O” shape, his wide eyes following Betty through the air.

 

She hits the ground with a thud, a small grunt escaping her lips. Jughead and Archie race over to her, watching carefully as she sits up. Her pink dress is covered in dirt and her knee is bleeding slightly, but Jughead is relieved that she doesn’t appear to have broken her arm.

 

Betty stares at them, as if unsure of how to react. Her chest heaves and her eyes water slightly, but Jughead watches her hands curl into tight fists. “Are you okay Betty?” Archie asks worriedly, looking like he wants to run for an adult. “I… I think so,” Betty whispers.

 

Seeing Betty sitting in the dirt, like he’d wanted only minutes before, doesn’t fill Jughead with the satisfaction he’d expected it to. He feels sorry for ever thinking about pushing her down. Jughead steps forward and extends his hand towards her.

 

Betty blinks at him in surprise. She purses her lips in irritation, and for a moment Jughead thinks she might slap his hand away. But when she looks down at her bloodied knees, she heaves a sigh of acceptance and takes his hand. Helping her to her feet, Jughead feels a different kind of knot form in his stomach.

 

Betty regards him for a moment, color rushing to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says quietly, averting her eyes. Before he can respond, she turns to head back inside. Jughead looks to Archie, who shrugs and whistles for his dog.

 

Later that evening, while Chic reviews his spelling homework at Pop’s, Jughead orders a strawberry milkshake. When it arrives, the pink color makes him think of Betty. He sips it quietly, wondering what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know your thoughts! I hope jumping around their perspectives is okay. next chapter will jump ahead a year or two! find me on tumblr at chic-cooprs if you wanna chat :)


	3. that leads us to who knows where

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betty announcing that she does not like chocolate chip pancakes in the last episode really took the wind out of my sails! jokes aside through, yall, this chapter gave me a LOT of trouble. I really struggled to be happy with the final product. I wrote one version, and before posting that one I had a new idea, and had to completely rewrite! and, i have still not learned to write short chapters. so your thoughts are so very appreciated.
> 
> no beta, and I wrote most of this with the flu, so any mistakes are my own.

Chapter 3 

“Jughead, there won’t be enough candies to put on the cookies if you don’t stop eating them!”

 

Chic watches Betty roll her eyes at Jughead, who sticks his tongue out in return. When she turns her back to him to check on a batch of cookies in the oven, Jughead pops another chocolate candy in his mouth. Chic catches his eye and winks, taking a couple for himself.

 

He tosses one up for Jug to catch in his mouth, but Betty turns back around as it’s mid-flight. Jughead snaps his mouth shut and grins sheepishly at her, the candy bouncing off his cheek and onto the floor. Betty rolls her eyes, though Chic catches a small quirk of her lips as she begins prepping the icing.

 

It’s the second year that Jughead has joined them for their holiday baking spree, and despite Betty’s strict guardianship over the cookie toppings, Chic is relieved to find the mood less combative this time. Last year, just a few months after meeting Jughead, the occasion was less than festive. Betty at first had outright refused to participate, and was coaxed down only by the smell of baking gingerbread.

 

In the year since, Chic thankfully observed Betty and Jughead fall into a more relaxed relationship. Betty stopped fighting Jughead’s presence in Chic’s life, and while they have not yet reached friendship, she has at least stopped actively resenting him. Jughead, for his part, has discovered the unique enjoyment to be found in pushing Betty’s buttons.

 

As her much older—not to mention _biological_ —brother, Chic refrains from teasing his sister too often. Both Cooper girls can dish it as well as they can take it, but his undeniable soft spot for Betty has always kept him from picking on her. Still, Chic can’t deny how adorably funny she looks when her nostrils flare as she huffs in annoyance, or when her cheeks flush in indignation. As long as Jug is not mean to Betty, he lets the playful teasing slide.

 

They ice the sugar cookies in relatively comfortable silence, listening to Polly play Christmas carols on the piano in the next room. Chic watches Jughead watch Betty carefully ice a snowflake-shaped cookie, and wonders if Jug teases her because he _likes_ the way her cheeks resemble a tomato when she’s angry, rather than thinking it’s funny. He hopes his little brother is not heading for a heartbreak, as Betty has begun nursing a crush on the redhead next door. She blushes in an entirely different way with him.

 

But when he spots Betty watching Jughead decorate a cookie for Jellybean, Chic thinks that maybe Betty’s destined for something other than the boy next door. He shakes his head and smiles to himself, deciding against marrying off his little sister before her tenth birthday.

 

\--

 

Later that evening, after stuffing Jug’s backpack to the brim with cookies, Chic walks him home.

 

“So,” he asks, teeth chattering slightly in the winter air, “did you send a letter to Santa this year?”

 

Jughead peers up at him incredulously. “I’m ten, Chic. I know there’s no Santa.”

 

“Right, right. You’re growing up on me, huh?” Chic looks down at his little brother. In the last year or so that they’ve been brothers, he’s been proud to watch Jughead come into himself bit by bit. Still a little aloof, definitely dramatic—but he scowls less; at least, he does with Chic.

 

As they walk, Chic notices that he’s grown up physically as well. Jughead’s arms jut out of his winter coat, which was clearly given to him years ago: it’s shabby, with a well-worn collar and a patch at his elbow. “Aren’t you freezing,” he asks gently, “why aren’t you wearing a scarf or gloves?”

 

Jughead turns bright red and doesn’t look at him. “I don’t have any,” he says to the pavement. “Mom says it’s Jellybean’s turn for new clothes.”

 

Chic feels guilty immediately. It’s so easy to forget, he thinks, that other kids don’t get new coats and mittens every year. He reminds himself to do some additional last-minute shopping before their Christmas Eve gift exchange in a few days.

 

\--

 

Jellybean careens around down the hall from her bedroom and into the living room as Jughead and Chic come through the front door. She crashes into Chic’s legs, wrapping her arms around them and squeezing tight.

 

“Hey there, JB,” he chuckles, “have you gotten even taller since I saw you last week?” JB giggles before releasing him and demanding, “Where are my cookies?”

 

 Jughead shakes his head and holds up his backpack. “They’re here, Jelly. But you can’t have any tonight. Mom says no sweets before bed, remember?”

 

Jellybean’s eyes instantly grow wide and wet with tears, her lower lip trembling with the sting of disappointment. She looks to Chic, having learned very quickly how powerless he is at resisting the puppy dog eyes of a little sister.

 

But Chic is not moved. “Sorry, JB, rules are rules. But _maybe_ , if you’re extra good tonight, Jughead will share them with you tomorrow.” He winks at her, and Jelly’s wobbling lips give way to a smile.

 

Jughead’s chest swells with affection. Chic has been this best big brother to him—he helps him with math homework, takes him for ice cream, and shares his comic book collection—but Jughead feels happiest in knowing that Chic is also there for Jelly. He loves knowing that she has another big brother to make her smile.

 

“Forsythia, you’d better be brushing your teeth, it’s almost bedtime and—“ his mom trails off as she finds Jellybean standing in the living room with Jughead and Chic. “Oh, hello Chic, it’s nice to see you again,” she says, smiling at him.

 

 Jughead recognizes it as the same smile she gives them after they hear her and their dad fighting after they’ve been put to bed.

 

“Hi, Mrs. Jones. Nice to see you, too. The Christmas tree looks great,” Chic answers, gesturing to the tree their dad brought home last week. It’s not as big as the Cooper’s tree, and it has far fewer gifts underneath it, but Jughead feels warm at the memory of decorating it with his family.

 

They’d spent that evening drinking hot chocolate and watching their father drape the tree with lights. _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ played on the television as they covered it with ornaments and tinsel, their mom singing softly along to the music.

 

Jughead does not often care to pretend that his family is normal, like Archie’s family. He knows they’re poor, that his mom is tired, that his dad can be mean. But that night, Jughead felt that maybe things would get easier; maybe being having a Cooper big brother could help them be a little better.

 

“Jug, would you tuck your sister in for me?” Jughead blinks out of his memories at his mom’s voice. An excuse to get rid of him so she could chat with Chic, he knows, but he takes Jelly by the hand nonetheless. Chic gives him a one-armed hug and ruffles JB’s hair before they retreat down the hall. “I’ll see you in a couple days,” he calls, waving as Jughead tugs his sister to her bedroom.

 

\--

 

Jellybean falls asleep only after hearing two stories. Jughead would be annoyed, but he loves making up stories for her. Lately he’s been writing stories of knights on grand adventures, of princes slaying dragons, of castles and moats and magic. Chic reads them all; he’s even kept some to read to Betty. Jughead wonders if she likes them.

 

He pads towards the kitchen, hoping to sneak a cookie before going to bed himself. Nearing the end of the carpeted hallway, he hears voices coming from the living room. He’s surprised: Chic usually sticks around just for a few moments to update his mom on their weekly activities, or Jughead’s progress in multiplication tables.

 

Jughead tiptoes towards the living room, anxious to hear what’s keeping Chic here so late. He hopes he’s not telling her that he’s done. Crossing his fingers, he presses against the wall by the door to listen.

 

“…I just think that with a little extra practice, he could really go far with it,” Chic is saying. “He’s so talented.”

 

Talented? They can’t be talking about him.

 

“What do you mean, practice? Like extra tutoring with you?” Whatever they’re discussing, his mother does not sound convinced.

 

“Not quite. Mrs. Jones, I’m happy to help Jughead with his homework and to read his writing, but there’s only so much I can do.”

 

Jughead feels his stomach plummet. So Chic is done with him. Alarm bells ring so loudly in his mind that he almost misses Chic’s next words.

 

“I’m just not a writer. He’s already better than I am. My sisters, Polly and Betty, they love to write too. They attend a creative writing camp at the community center in the summers. They get lessons in writing with real authors. I think Jug could really benefit from something like that.”

 

The alarm bells silence immediately. Chic thinks he could be a writer? There are camps for writing?

 

“Oh, I don’t know. That sounds awfully expensive.” His mom is right of course. If there’s no money for a new coat, how could he ever go to summer camp?

 

“I’m sure my parents would be happy to help Jug go,” Chic answers.

 

“No, no. It’s not worth all that trouble. I’m sure Jughead is good at writing. He does tell Jelly the sweetest stories. But I don’t want to get his hopes up,” his mom says, and Jughead feels his stomach drop once more.

 

“What do you mean?” Chic asks, sounding like he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“I just… I just don’t know what the future holds for my son. With his father the way he is, and where he comes from. I don’t want him to get too excited about it, you understand.”

 

Jughead has long suspected that his mom loves him without liking him. To hear her talk like that, though, is unexpected. His face burns with shame and tears prick his eyes: his mom doesn’t believe in him.

 

Chic doesn’t answer for a moment. Jughead hears the couch springs creak as he stands. His voice is clipped, sharp—like nothing Jughead has ever heard from him before.

 

“Sure, Mrs. Jones. I understand. It’s just something to think about. I should get back home now, though.”

 

Jughead wipes his face wildly and scrambles back to his bedroom before he is seen, cookie long-forgotten.

 

\--

 

Chic fumes the whole walk home. He knows things are hard for the Joneses, of course he does. But for Jughead’s mom to dismiss her son’s potential—his entire future—so flippantly lit a rage inside him that he couldn’t quell.

 

Jug has odds against him. But Chic refuses to write him off so easily.

 

He takes burning gulps of cold winter air, head between his knees as he sits on the front steps, trying to collect himself before going inside. His mom hates what she calls his “moods”, the anger that sometimes explodes past his chest and hangs in the air around him. It suffocates him.

 

But he thinks of Jug and his sister, at home with a mom that’s too exhausted to think about anything beyond what they’ll have for breakfast (a bowl of cereal; no freshly cut fruit, no juice, no second helpings) in the morning, and a dad that clocks in more hours at the bar than he does at his job.

 

Chic feels his skin split open before he realizes that he’s swung his fist at the stone step beneath him. Pain shoots from his hand up his arm, and he bites his tongue to keep from crying out. He examines his battered knuckles, watching the blood pool to the surface of his broken skin. It calms him a little.

 

Breathing deeply, he rises to his feet and steps inside the house. It’s dark—he faintly hears the television in the basement. His dad must be still up, but everyone else seems to be in bed.

 

At the top of the steps, he pokes his head in Polly’s room. She’s asleep on her side, facing away from him. Chic notices her nightlight glowing in the corner of the room. Reminding himself not to tease her about it in the morning, he smiles softly and closes her door.

 

Betty is also asleep, her own nightlight casting a soft light across her face. Chic leans against her doorframe, amazed at the circumstances that brought this ten-year-old to this home, this life, and those that brought Jughead to his.

 

He moves to leave his sister in peace, but a pile of papers next to her sleeping form catch his eye. He goes to collect them, thinking that she must have fallen asleep while finishing a homework assignment.

 

But the writing is not in Betty’s neat lettering—it’s Jughead’s messy scrawl. Chic feels his heart burst with love for his little sister. He can’t believe it; Betty’s been reading Jughead’s stories. She must have grabbed them out of his desk drawer.

 

Not wanting to embarrass Betty, Chic puts the papers back on her bed. He makes anther mental note not to tease his sister, and heads to bed.

 

\--

 

A few days later, on Christmas Eve, Jughead walks over to the Cooper house for their gift exchange. Betty and Archie are in the front yard building a snowman when she seems him coming.

 

“Here comes Jughead, Arch,” she says, nodding up the block. Archie elbows her conspiratorially and rolls a snowball in his hands. It sails across the yard as Jughead approaches and hits him square in the face.

 

He staggers back at the force of the snowball, and for a moment Betty worries that he might be hurt. But a grin splits his face, and soon snowballs are flying in every direction.

 

After getting pummeled by snow, Archie holds his hands up in peaceful surrender. “I have something for you, Jug,” he calls across the yard. Betty and Jughead both look to him in surprise.

 

“You do?” Betty is perplexed; Archie didn’t mention getting anything for Jughead this Christmas. He’d given her a Nancy Drew book earlier that afternoon. She already owns that one, but she would treasure it nonetheless.

 

“Yeah, come over to the garage real quick!”

 

Archie disappears inside his dad’s workspace for a moment once they’ve gathered outside, and emerges with his bike.

“You’re… giving me your bike?” Jughead asks skeptically. “Why?”

 

“Mom and Dad are bad at hiding gifts. I’m getting a new one tomorrow morning. But Dad’s taken really good care of this one, so I thought you could have it and we can ride together!”

 

For a moment, Jughead looks like he might not take it. Betty’s noticed that Jughead does not always like to accept gifts. She thinks he may not get many.

 

“Wow, thanks Arch. I, uh, didn’t get anything for you, though,” Jughead says, not quite meeting his eye.

 

“That’s okay, dude! Just ride bikes with me and that’ll be a good gift!”

 

Jughead smiles at him in return, and Betty feels conflicted. She’s proud of Archie for doing something nice for Jughead, and she actually finds herself glad for Jug, too. But she still can’t shake the nagging fear that one day, Chic and Archie will hop on their bikes and ride off with Jughead, leaving her behind.

 

She doesn’t want to be left behind.

 

“Jug, Betty, are you out there? Come in for some cocoa!” Betty hears her brother calling them inside and swallows the lump in her throat. Chic would never leave her behind.

 

Archie declines an invitation to come inside, heading home to help his mom with their Christmas Eve dinner. He wishes them all a Merry Christmas before disappearing into his own house.

 

Sitting in the living room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of her, Betty looks around at the glittering decorations. A fire crackles in the fireplace, warming her to her toes. Betty does not often feel wholly at ease; she always feels that there is _something_ that needs to be done. “Idleness is root of all evil,” as her mom often reminds them.

 

But right now, Betty feels peacefully still. If there’s one thing the Coopers do well, it’s Christmas. The house is lit up, the kitchen is bursting with holiday food, and Polly sings carols as she moves through the house.

 

Jughead stands in the entryway to the living room, looking small as he takes in the Christmas tree that stands in the window. Betty watches him sit in one of the armchairs and wonders when it will stop feeling weird to see him in her house.

 

Chic whistles as he bounds into the room, carrying a small stack of gifts. “Merry Christmas, Jug!” he sings, “These are for you.”

 

He places the gifts on the coffee table in front of Jughead. Their parents follow close behind with a couple packages of their own. “Merry Christmas, Jughead,” their mom says, and pointing to a couple of gifts in pink paper, she adds, “These two are for your sister.”

 

Jughead wears the same expression as when Archie offered him the bike, but quickly regains his composure. “Thank you,” he utters, “thank you very much.”

 

From her parents, Jughead unwraps a new coat with a scarf and gloves. Betty wonders if he’s disappointed— she always hates getting clothes for Christmas instead of books or toys.

 

But when Jughead shrugs off his old coat and wraps himself in the new one, Betty thinks that she’s never seen him look so happy. That is, until her mom tells him that she got a set for Jellybean as well.

 

Betty can’t help but feel sad. How cold must someone be to get so excited over a coat? She makes a mental note to offer some of her old layers to Goodwill after the holidays.

 

Chic gives Jughead a new journal and his old copy of _The Once and Future King._ Betty is a little disappointed; she always loved reading that book with him. But she knows that Jughead likes to write stories, too—and though she would never admit it, she likes them a lot—and thinks that he will probably like that book just as much as she does.

 

Jughead gives Chic a notebook filled with his writing and illustrations. Chic looks at Jughead with an expression so strange, Betty feels that she shouldn’t be watching. Like he might cry, like he might laugh, like he might try to hug him.

 

Jughead must feel the same way, because after a moment, he averts his eyes from Chic’s gaze. His eyes land on Betty, who gives him a light-lipped smile. She doesn’t want to ruin his Christmas, and she feels guilty for giving into her possessiveness again, but she’s jealous of this connection that Jughead shares with her brother.

 

Jughead just smiles shyly back at her. Betty feels her own smile relax a little.

 

Later, once he’s all bundled up in his new winter gear, Jughead gets ready to ride home for Christmas Eve with his own family. Betty sits at the top of the stairs and watches Chic help him pack his and Jellybean’s gifts in his backpack.

 

“I have one more gift for you,” Chic says quietly, handing him a small gift bag.

 

Jughead takes the bag and gives Chic a wary look.

 

“It’s nothing big, I promise. I just saw it and thought of you.” Chic assures him.

 

Betty can’t see what the gift is until Chic takes it from Jughead’s hands and places it on his head.

 

A hat; a beanie, really, knit to look like a crown. Jughead reaches up and adjusts it slightly.

 

“For when you need to feel brave,” Chic tells him softly.

 

Jughead lowers his head and whispers something that Betty can’t make out. She again feels that she’s intruded on a moment that doesn’t belong to her. She quietly stands up and makes her way to her bedroom, thinking of knights and princesses.

 

\--

 

 Jughead rides his new bike home feeling warmer than he ever has before, though it has little to do with the new coat or scarf. Two Christmases with two families: for the first time in his short life, Jughead feels truly blessed.

 

Pulling into the driveway, an eerie silence exudes from the house that tinges Jughead’s joy with uneasiness. There aren’t any lights on, and Jughead notes that his mom’s car is gone. Did they go out for more shopping?

 

“Jelly, I have some presents for you!” he calls as he steps inside.

 

He’s stopped in his tracks by the sight that greets him.

 

The Christmas tree has been toppled over, ornaments scattered across the floors and lights broken. Some of them still blink in a desperate attempt to twinkle.

 

His dad sits in an armchair, head in his hands.

 

“Dad? What happened?” Jughead chokes out, breath caught in his throat.

 

His dad lifts his head, eyes rimmed with red and tears staining his cheeks. He rises slowly and sways on the spot.

 

“Your mom’s gone, that’s what happened.” His dad spits his words, wiping angrily at his face.

 

“Gone…? Gone where?” Spots swim before Jughead’s eyes. He can’t process what he’s hearing.

 

“Does it matter where? She’s _gone,_ Jug. Took your sister and left me on _fuckin’_ Christmas!”

 

Panic seizes Jughead’s body. How did this happen? He was only gone for a few hours.

 

“Are they coming back?” Jughead can barely speak. Where is his sister?

“I don’t know, damn it. I… I don’t know.” His dad seems to deflate at this, and he walks away from Jughead and into the kitchen. Jughead hears him rummage in the fridge and the clinking of bottles lets him know that his dad found what he was searching for.

 

Jughead steels himself and numbly walks down the hallway to his sister’s room. Most of her belongings are still there, though the drawers to her dresser are left open and empty. Jughead notes that her teddy is gone, too. Wherever she is, he’s glad that she has it with her.

 

Jughead slowly unzips his bag and takes Jellybean’s presents from the Coopers out. He gently places them at the foot of her bed. He then backs out of the room and shuts the door.

 

He’ll never go in again.

 

\--

 

Jughead sits in his room in silence, listening to his father rage about the house and eventually fall asleep in front of the television.

 

He reaches up and touches the hat that still sits on his head, and tugs it down over his ears.

 

“Be brave,” he whispers to himself, throat clogged with tears. “Be brave, Jug.”

 

Perched on his bed, Jughead stares ahead blankly at the wall, unable to land on a single thought.

 

The night passes him by. Christmas morning approaches, a cold dawn light drifting through his window. He and Jellybean were up to greet the morning last year, too: but this Christmas brings no stockings, no cinnamon buns, no mistletoe. It brings only silence.

 

He can't believe it; he's been left behind.

 

Jughead knows he can’t stay and wait for his dad to wake up. He can’t be here today.

 

He quietly slips out the door and hops on his bike.

 

\--

 

It’s 6:30 AM and when Betty pads downstairs. The house is dark and quiet, and she knows it will be another hour or so before anyone else wakes up. She likes this time of morning, though, especially on Christmas. She thinks of other kids and families waking up and greeting this day with excitement and joy.

 

Betty frowns when she hears a noise outside. Peering out the window, she see’s Archie’s bike— _Jughead’s bike_ , she reminds herself—on the sidewalk in front of the house. Jughead himself is pacing back and forth next to it.

 

She slips on her coat and shoes sitting by the door and steps into the icy morning air. Betty approaches Jughead gently, seeing his distress from the window. He looks so different from the boy wearing a new coat in her living room just yesterday.

Sensing someone coming, Jughead stops pacing and jolts to attention. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs his shoulders when she stops in front of him.

 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he mumbles to the ground.

 

“Chic’s not up yet,” Betty says before mentally chastising herself. She knows Jughead didn’t come to see her, but she also knows she could never send him away like this.

 

“Oh, yeah, okay. I can… I can go, then.” He moves to pick his bike up, and Betty launches herself forward.

 

“No!” she cries, reaching for his arm and grabbing tight. Jughead looks up her in surprise. “I mean… you can come in and wait for him. If you want.”

 

Jughead breathes a sigh of relief and gives her a grateful look. He follows her inside and into the living room. Betty takes his coat and hang it in the hall next to her own.

 

They sit in silence on the couch for a few moments before Betty forces herself to speak. She may not totally like Jughead, but she can feel the despair radiating from him. Something is wrong.

 

“Are… are you alright?” she asks the Christmas tree.

 

“I don’t know,” he tells his lap.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she prompts the coffee table.

 

“I don’t know,” he answers to the ceiling.

 

Betty nods. She knows that feeling. Sometimes she hurts so deeply but doesn’t know the words to explain _why._ Maybe Jughead, too, doesn’t know how to say what’s wrong.

 

So Betty does what Chic or Polly do for her when she’s unspeakably sad. She reaches over and takes his hand.

 

She feels Jughead go still at the touch of her hand, but he doesn’t move it away. They sit in silence, hand in hand, as Christmas morning moves along.

 

Chic will be up soon. Chic will know what to do. He always knows what to do.

 

\--

 

At 7:45, Chic whistles as he jogs down the stairs. He was surprised to wake up on his own, and not to the sound of Betty cheering the family awake for Christmas presents. He heard Polly and his parents moving about in their own bedrooms, slowly waking up, but Betty’s room was surprisingly empty.

 

Stepping into the living room, he’s about to launch into a rendition of “Jingle Bells” when his little sister, seated on the couch, brings a finger to her lips to silence him. Betty uses the same finger to point to the figure next to her.

 

Chic does a double take when he realizes that it’s _Jughead_ next to Betty. He’s slumped over, head on her shoulder, sound asleep. Their hands are intertwined between them.

 

Betty worries her lip between her teeth as she looks down at Jughead, at the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. She then looks up at Chic expectantly.

 

His heart leaps into his throat, knowing that overnight, the world had shifted. When Jughead wakes up, their lives will change forever. Chic feels ice flood his veins.

 

And, terrifyingly, he has no idea what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me at chic-cooprs on tumblr if you wanna chat re: this chapter/story/anything at all! your response to this fic has been absolutely amazing. 
> 
> I don't have a regular update schedule, but I will try not to take too long between chapters. real life must have its own way sometimes, though! thanks for your patience, love you all!


	4. But I'm strong, strong enough to carry him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a preface: this chapter is a little shorter than my usual, but this is the inspiration that struck! it's also purely a Chic POV chapter. hope you like it :)

The presents sit unwrapped under the tree. Polly has retreated to her bedroom. Somewhere in the house, Betty and Jughead are reading.

 

Chic sits at the kitchen table, head in his hands. His parents sit across from him, clutching steaming mugs of coffee.

 

The room almost crackles with energy, though the silence between them is tense.

 

His mother breaks it first.

 

“Honey, I’m sorry. You know I like Jughead. And I’m proud of you for being there for him, but he can’t stay here.”

 

Chic’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing at her. “You like him, but just not enough to help him when he really needs it.”

 

“Jughead has his father,” she answers primly. “I know they’re having a hard time, but we can’t just take him away from his family.”

 

“Mom, he can’t stay there. I can’t send him back there,” Chic pleads, desperate to reach his mother’s heart.

 

He feels a tightness in his chest as he remembers Jughead’s recollection of yesterday’s events: his mother and sister gone, his father unhinged, his life forever changed. Chic can’t bear the thought of sending Jughead back home, not now.

 

Jughead has time and again assured Chic that his father never hurt them, and Chic believed him. But today, things were different. Today, Chic refuses to take any chances.

 

“FP has always had his demons, son, but they’ll make it through,” his father chirps brightly. His mother inhales sharply and turns to stare daggers at him.

 

Chic’s jaw drops open. “You… _know_ FP Jones?” he asks, incredulous.

 

His mother pinches the bridge of her nose, as if she’s dreaded this moment. Perhaps she has. But Chic won’t let this go; he can’t.

 

“Mom, tell me,” he demands.

 

“We went to high school together.” She speaks slowly, refusing to look him in the eye. “Your father and I, Fred and Mary… and FP.”

 

She stares down at her coffee, probably hoping that he would accept this answer and move on.

 

“What happened?”

 

His father takes over, taking his mother’s hand.

 

“Son, FP has always been troubled. He had a hard home life and he fell into the wrong crowd. Your mom and Fred Andrews especially tried to help him, but—“

 

“That’s enough, Hal,” she interrupts. “Chic, my answer is no. I will not have him here.”

 

“You _just_ said that Mr. Jones had a hard home life and look what’s happened to him! You’re just going to make Jughead go back to that?”

 

His mother slams her fist down on the kitchen table. “That is _enough_ , Charles Cooper. Jughead can stay for dinner, but afterwards he has got to go home.”

 

An electrical fire erupts in Chic’s brain: hot rage shoots through his veins and sets his body ablaze. He pushes away from the kitchen table and stands with a force that rattles his parents’ mugs.

 

Before he lets himself say something that may result in Jughead getting sent home sooner, he forces himself into the backyard.

 

\--

 

Chic stands under a tree, resting his forehead against the bark and taking painful gasps of cold air. Above him, the treehouse he built with his father as a kid looms, taunting what feels like the end of his childhood.

 

 _Welcome to adulthood, Chic,_ he thinks, _you’ve already failed._

He swore to be there for Jughead. He promised to be his brother, no matter what. Later today, Jughead will go home to a father that isn’t capable of taking care of him. He is breaking his promise; he is letting his little brother down.

 

Chic lets out a groan of anguish and feels hot tears slip down his cheeks. The white hot fury still sits in his chest; he can’t breathe from the weight of it.

 

It demands release and Chic is ready to indulge, to relieve this pressure. He slams his fists at the heavy bark of the old oak tree, feeling the wrath escape through the open skin on his knuckles. He heaves sobs and punches until he’s spent, falling over himself and landing on his knees. Blood spatters across the snow.

 

He feels her eyes on him before he sees her. Chic takes a bracing breath and wipes his face, before standing to turn and face his little sister.

 

Betty is standing by the backdoor, wringing her hands. Her wide green eyes glisten with tears and she’s nervously biting her lip. He can tell instantly that she saw everything. She seems hesitant to move any closer and Chic is instantly ashamed: she’s afraid of him.

 

He slowly moves toward his sister and kneels in the snow in front of her. His hands itch to take hers, but he clenches them into the familiar fist, not wanting to frighten her further by shoving his bloodied hands in her face.

 

“Betts,” he breathes, “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

 

Her voice is small when she answers, “What’s wrong?”

 

He smiles in spite of himself, touched by her concern for him.

 

“I’m just worried about Jughead,” he says simply, not sure how to articulate what he’s feeling.

 

Betty’s brow furrows in confusion. “Then why did you do that to your hands?”

 

Chic hangs his head for a moment, feeling suddenly exhausted by the whirlwind of emotions this day has brought. When he raises his head again, he finds Betty looking back at him with an open, kind expression and he feels tears prick behind his eyes again. His sister’s heart never fails to amaze him.

 

He lifts his hands to her, and she gazes at them in apprehensive fascination.

 

“Sometimes I get very upset. I get very angry or very sad, and I don’t know how to make it go away,” he begins. Chic searches her eyes and is dismayed by the understanding and connection he finds there. When he speaks again, his voice is stronger, more urgent: “Sometimes hitting something makes me feel better, but Betty, I know it’s not the right way to handle things. If you ever feel angry or sad, I hope you’ll come find me. Okay?”

 

Betty nods. She reaches out and lightly touches the back of his hand. “I hope you’ll come find me too,” she says softly.

 

Chic beams at her. “I promise.”

 

A moment passes between them before he looks around in confusion. “Where’s Jug?”

 

“He’s in your room reading. I was going to see if Archie wanted to come over. He’s always good at making Jughead laugh.”

 

An idea blossoms in Chic’s mind. His brilliant, beautiful little sister, always bringing out the best in him. He plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek before marching back into the house. He hears her giggle as she follows behind him.

 

Their parents are still sitting in the kitchen talking amongst themselves when Chic strides into the room. He slams his hands down on the table, ignoring the aghast sputtering they give at his bloody knuckles.

 

“Call Fred Andrews. Now.”

 

\--

 

Chic sits on the living room couch, amazed at how long one day can be.

 

Betty and Archie have constructed a blanket fort in the living room in attempt to make Jughead smile. They’re inside, flipping through the books Betty got for Christmas and giggling. Jughead sits in the armchair nearby, looking pointedly down at his hands. Chic knows he’s still feeling guilty about his decision to stay with Fred and Mary Andrews for a while.

 

He’d been hesitant to accept Fred Andrews’ offer. “No thank you, Mr. Andrews,” he said, “I should stay with my dad.”

 

“It won’t be for forever, Jughead,” Fred assured him, “Just until your dad gets situated. Archie and I would love it if you’d come stay, wouldn’t we, Arch?”

 

Archie gave a wide grin and nodded wildly. Jughead caught Chic’s eye over Archie’s shoulder, looking for direction. Chic smiled— “Be brave,” he mouthed.

 

Jughead straightened up at this. “Okay, Mr. Andrews, thank you.”

 

Fred and his mother were at Jughead’s house now to convince FP and gather some of Jughead’s things. Chic closes his eyes, sending a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that FP agrees.

 

Polly brings a tray of hot chocolates into the living room and sets it down for Betty and Archie to grab. She hands a mug to Chic. “Coffee for you,” she whispers and Chic shoots her a grateful look.

 

Betty pokes her head from behind the blankets. “Come on, Juggie, get in the fort with us!”

 

Juggie. _That’s new,_ Chic notes. He files the nickname away for further thought later. For now, he’s just glad to see Betty reaching out to Jughead.

 

Jughead’s cheeks tinge pink at the nickname and despite the burden Chic knows is sitting on his heart, he smiles shyly back at Betty. “Okay,” he says, scrambling inside the fort.

 

The little group whispers amongst themselves surrounded by blankets and pillows, and Chic finally allows himself to relax.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket: a text from his mom. “FP agrees. Heading home soon.”

 

Chic’s head falls back against the couch in relief. From inside the fort, he hears Betty and Jughead shriek with laughter at a joke from Archie.

 

 _Welcome to adulthood, Chic,_ he thinks, _maybe you won’t mess it up after all._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how we doin? what do we think? find me at chic-cooprs on tumblr if you wanna chat! THANK YOU for your amazing response to this fic. love you all!


	5. so on we go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I wish I could operate on a regular update schedule, but real life has a habit of messing up the fun stuff. let me know what you think of the direction of Chic in this chapter... I am, uh, trying something new.

Two weeks later, after the Christmas decorations have been cleared away and the new year ushered in, Jughead faces his next challenge. Mrs. Andrews secured him a spot at Riverdale Elementary in Archie’s class. For a situation that was made to be temporary, Jughead feels an alarming sense of permanence as he watches Archie’s mom pack his new backpack with fresh notebooks and folders. Tomorrow’s his first day, and though he’d never admit it, he’s nervous.

 

He wonders what Jellybean is doing right now. Is she going to a new school, too? Is she as scared as he is? Does she miss him?

 

The shrill ring of the Andrews’ phone jolts Jughead from his thoughts. Fred answers, and after exchanging some pleasantries, tosses the phone to Jughead. “For you,” he says.

 

Jughead gulps audibly. Maybe it’s his dad, asking him to come home. Or his mom, calling to let him know where she is. He quietly wishes that it’s neither.

 

“Hello?” His voice sounds small even to his own ears.

 

He sags in relief when Chic’s voice sounds from the other end.

 

“Jug!” he chirps, “Just wanted to wish you luck on your first day tomorrow. Are you excited?”

 

Jughead shifts nervously. “Oh, uh, I guess so,” he replies. Excited is not the term he would choose. When he agreed to stay at Archie’s, he thought of bike rides, video games, and warm dinners. In the blink of an eye, this extended sleepover turned into a whole new life.

 

“I know it’s a lot, but I think you’ll like it there,” Chic continues, picking up on his reluctance. “Just stick with Archie and Betty and you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

 

Jughead perks up at Betty’s name.  

 

“Betty’s in my class, too?”

 

On the other end of the line, Chic chuckles. “Yeah, she is. She and Archie have been in the same class since kindergarten. So don’t worry, you’ll have some friendly faces.”

 

“Yeah, I guess it won’t be too bad.”

 

“It’ll be great,” Chic says confidently. “Meet me after school tomorrow, so I can hear all about it.”

 

“Okay,” Jughead agrees, smiling in spite of himself. Maybe a change wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

\--

 

Jughead and Archie eat their cereal the next morning in sleepy silence. Jughead finds himself unable to finish his, the bundle of nerves in the pit of his stomach squashing his appetite. He shoves his bowl over to Archie, who happily gulps it down.

 

A brisk knock at the door alerts the boys that it’s time to head out. Mr. Andrews swings the front door open to reveal Betty standing on the porch.

 

She smiles at them, and Jughead feels a little better already.

 

\--

 

The morning passes by in a blur. A parade of new faces, names, and classrooms blend together in Jughead’s brain.

 

Riverdale Elementary is decidedly brighter—and nicer— than his old school on the Southside. He’s loaded up with new books, sits at a clean desk next to Archie (and behind Betty), and finds a big lunch tucked in his backpack from Mrs. Andrews—complete with a note written on a napkin. _Have a great day, Jug!_ it reads in neat lettering.

 

Jughead holds the note gently in his hands, studying it for a moment. He notices that Archie has already balled his up. It sits, discarded, next to his apple core and deflated juice box. Jughead folds his carefully and sticks it in his pocket.

 

Even recess is nicer: Archie runs off to play kickball with a group of boys, calling for Jughead to join him. Riverdale Elementary may be a better school, but he is still not inspired to play sports in his free time.

 

Instead, he sits on a swing with his new copy of _A Wrinkle in Time._ A few moments pass before he notices someone sit in the swing next to him. A flash of pink out of the corner of his eye quickly identifies his visitor.

 

“Hi Betty,” he says. Only a smile from Betty could force his eyes from the pages: she offers him one, and Jughead quickly decides it worth the interruption.

 

“Hi Juggie,” she returns, swinging lazily. “Are you having a good day?”

 

“Yes,” he says honestly, though a part of him is admittedly waiting for the day to take a turn for the worse. It’s going too well—he’s enjoying it too much.

 

But Betty smiles again and Jughead files his worries away for later.

 

The rest of recess, and the rest of the afternoon, floats by easily. Archie invites him to the comic book store with his friends after school, but Jughead is eager to tell Chic about his day.

He begins the walk back to the Andrews’—back _home_ , he reminds himself—alone before a familiar voice calls his name.

\--

Betty is chatting with Midge and Nancy at the front of the school when she spots Jughead walking alone. She offers a hurried goodbye to her friends before rushing to catch up with him.

She’s not sure how it happened: Jughead is her friend.

He’s still grumpy and awkward, and she definitely thinks that he annoys her on purpose sometimes, but Betty finds that she likes having him around.

She loves Archie, but Betty found it surprisingly easy to expand their little twosome for Jughead. Where she used to think that he would be linked to her only through Chic or Archie, Betty is happy to think that she and Jughead are forming their own friendship.

They play outside and chase Vegas with Archie, they eat at Pop’s and watch movies with Chic, but together they talk about stories of adventure and faraway worlds. Betty has a journal rapidly filling up with their latest mystery tale.

They walk together, discussing how their hero and heroine will be reunited. As they near their street, Betty spies a familiar blonde head not far ahead. She’s about to call Chic’s name when Jughead asks, “Who is that?”

Chic is talking with a red-haired boy who leans against a red convertible. He looks angry, waving his hands about wildly as he speaks. The other boy keeps his arms folded across his chest. He rolls his eyes dramatically and Chic stops speaking abruptly.

“That’s Chic’s friend, Jason.” Betty speaks lowly, as if afraid she could be heard from two blocks away. “I guess he and Chic are fighting. He hasn’t been around in a while.”

Betty and Jughead both gasp as Chic shoves the boy and stalks towards the house. Jason throws his hands up in exasperation and wrenches the car door open. Betty stares, wide-eyed, as the convertible speeds off down the street.

Chic limply watches him go, and Betty feels her heart sink.

\--

Jughead and Betty approach the house quietly. Chic is sitting on the front steps, staring at the space previously occupied by Jason’s red car. His hands are in his lap, balled tightly into fists.

He blinks as he sees them approach. “Hey guys,” he says weakly, fixing his face into an empty grin. “How was your day? Did you like it, Jug?”

Jughead suddenly doesn’t feel like gloating about his great first day. “It was good,” he says simply. He glances at Betty, hoping to get a sense of direction. Betty blinks back at him, also unsure of what to say.

Uneasy with the feeling of having seen something he shouldn’t have, Jughead searches his brain for something to cheer his brother up. “Do you want to go to Pop’s?” he asks, landing on the trick that always works for him. Chic always takes Jughead to Pop’s on his bad days: nothing treats a bad mood quite like a chocolate shake. Beside him, Betty brightens, and Jughead is pleased with his good idea.

Chic shakes his head sadly. “No thanks, you guys. I have a lot of studying to do this afternoon. Jug, do you mind if we raincheck? We can go to Pop’s on Friday night and I can hear all about your first week.”

Jughead wants to protest: he wants to talk with his brother. His first day at Riverdale Elementary was surprisingly wonderful, but he still can’t shake the feeling that his world is changing faster than he can manage. He wants to talk about his new teacher, his homework, the note that still sits in his pocket. He wants to talk about Jellybean.

But Jughead knows what it means to want to be alone.

“That’s okay,” he says, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. “Friday is good.”

Chic gives him a small smile before quietly disappearing inside the house. Jughead is about to turn towards the Andrews’ when Betty grabs his wrist. He looks at her questioningly.

“Do you want to come in? We can do our math homework. And I want to make some cookies or something for Chic.” She looks at him almost pleadingly. Like him, Betty must feel uncomfortable about the sadness emanating from Chic. It didn’t feel right to see him like that.

Chic always went above and beyond for him. A plate of chocolate chip cookies may not cure his troubles, but Jughead knows it’s as good a place to start as any.

“Definitely.”

\--

Chic didn’t touch the cookies, but Betty brought them to school to share with Jughead and Archie the next day.

The weeks stumbles on without a peep from his brother. By Friday, Jughead is bursting with things to tell Chic about. Word erupted at Riverdale Elementary that he transferred from Southside Elementary, and the ease of his first day was quickly squashed.

Reggie Mantle and Cheryl Blossom, along with the other most popular kids in their fifth grade class, took it upon themselves to make Jughead feel particularly unwelcome. They threw things at him in class, tripped him in the hallway, and pummeled him in dodgeball.

Betty and Archie quickly stepped in to defend him, which made his days much easier. Still, he was eager to talk to his big brother. If Chic had to deal with Jason Blossom, maybe he could help him handle Cheryl.

Jughead walks home alone on Friday, Archie staying at school for soccer practice and Betty to tutor some younger students. He reaches the Andrews’ house and fights the urge to knock. He lets himself in and Mr. Andrews calls to him from the kitchen.

“Hey there, Jug,” he greets him, tossing him a carton of chocolate milk. Jughead smiles; his own father was never home to meet him after school.

“Chic called earlier,” Mr. Andrews begins, and Jughead’s heart sinks. “He wasn’t feeling well so he left school early. He asked if you would be okay to go to Pop’s another time.”

Jughead sets the chocolate milk down, unopened. “Oh,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Oh… well if he’s sick, then that’s okay.” He fixes his eyes on the kitchen counter, not wanting to look at Mr. Andrews’ kind face and risk letting tears escape down his cheeks.

Mr. Andrews ruffles the beanie sitting on Jug’s head. “He’ll be better in no time, I’m sure,” he says cheerfully, and whistles his way up the stairs.

The phone rings a couple of hours later, as Jughead is flipping through the channels on television. He rushes to answer it, simultaneously hoping that it’s Chic and berating himself for answering someone else’s phone.

Betty’s voice rings sweetly from the other end. She invites him over for another attempt to make Chic feel better: chicken noodle soup and hot cocoa. “He must be feeling so bad,” she sighs, “he’s locked the door and won’t let me in.”

Jughead calls up to Mr. Andrews that he’s going to Betty’s and bolts out the door.

\--

Betty is thankful for Jughead’s company as she stirs the soup simmering on the stove. Her parents are working late at the office tonight and Polly is out with her friends. She’s worried about her brother: he’s been so down after most recent fight with Jason.

She’s grateful that she never fights with her best friend. Archie can be loud and hotheaded, but he never treats her badly. Chic has been quiet all week—he refused to join them for family dinners, and instead stayed locked up in his room from the time he got home from school until it was time to leave again. Betty has never seen him willfully stay away from her, or from Jughead.

Now he’s sick, and Betty is determined to make sure he takes care of himself. She and Jughead load up a tray with hot soup, cocoa, and a couple of the leftover cookies.

Outside Chic’s bedroom, Betty pulls a pin from her hair. “Are you sure about this?” Jughead whispers, “Do you think he wants to be alone?”

“Maybe he does,” Betty hisses back, “but he’s been alone all week. Chic needs us.” He doesn’t respond, but nods thoughtfully.

Betty fiddles with the lock before grinning up at him. “Thank you, Nancy Drew,” she whispers, bowing gracefully. Jughead smiles in return and her stomach flutters. Betty feels her grin falter (what _was_ that?) but straightens up. She wraps her hand around the doorknob and turns to Jughead. “Got the tray ready?”

He nods, holding it up for her inspection. _Perfect_. Betty opens the door quietly, so as not to startle their patient. She opens her mouth to call his name, but her voice is caught in her throat. Behind her, she feels Jughead stumble slightly.

Chic is asleep in bed, as expected, but he’s not alone.

Sleeping next to him—wrapped around him—is Jason Blossom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhanger!!!! thoughts? now: I promise to handle this carefully. Jason and Chic have not been Riverdale's most developed characters, but there is so much to play with here. it won't be all angst for them, either! 
> 
> find me at chic-cooprs on tumblr if you wanna chat fic/Riverdale/life :)


	6. his welfare is of my concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first things first: real life got super busy lately, so I have 100% failed at responding to your comments. please know that I am reading them and am SO GRATEFUL for them! your response to this fic makes my heart so happy. I'll do better as responding in future, promise! second: I don't think this is destined to be a very smutty fic at all. not that kinda vibe, plus I am not good at it! maybe a coda or something in the future.. who knows. 
> 
> anyways, I am so excited about this chapter. happier days for our little family!

Chic is warm. The sun, low in the sky, casts a glow about his bedroom, and even with his eyes closed, he feels cradled by its light. He stretches out and rolls onto his back. Next to him, Jason stirs and throws an arm across his chest.

Jason is here.

Chic cracks an eye open and peers down at his sleeping friend ( _boyfriend_?). Jason’s hair is a shock of red against his white pillowcase. Pink beams from the setting sun drift across his pale skin. He looks ethereal, bathed in sunset and wrapped in linen. _He’s magic,_ Chic thinks, _and he’s here._

This week has been the tipping point of a tumultuous few months in their friendship. Hot and lazy summer days dotted with kisses and touches by Sweetwater River flowed into tense and distant ones once the school year began. Jason had been hesitant to talk about their feelings for each other even during the summer, preferring to keep their meetings physical.

But Chic kept pushing; he was desperate to know that he wasn’t imagining things, that Jason felt what he was feeling. That they could be more than making out behind Pop’s or hurried handjobs in the backseat of Jason’s car. “Let this be enough,” Jason had whispered, “Let _me_ be enough.”

It wasn’t enough. By the end of the first term, they weren’t speaking. Still, Chic felt Jason’s eyes on him as he moved through the halls or sat in class. It was infuriating.

Over the winter break, Chic threw himself into the holidays and being with Jughead. He could forget about Jason’s lips on his skin and the feel of his gaze when Jug needed him. Chic had always been skilled at keeping his life compartmentalized into tidy boxes: family and Jughead, school, friends, hobbies. Everything had a moment, and everything had a place.

But when his relationship with Jason changed, it ripped Chic’s neatly bordered life apart. When the new term began, he couldn’t hold it together anymore. He and Jason were, in a twist worthy of a teen drama, paired together for a semester-long physics project.

Chic, knowing they couldn’t handle it in the way things stood, attempted to reconnect with his friend. Jason took him home and they filled the drive with tense small talk and half-hearted attempts to discuss the project. Chic couldn’t bear it. At a red light, he blurted, “What the fuck happened to us?”

 They fought in front of his house that first day back to school and Chic’s tidy boxes burst open. He couldn’t stand the thought of family dinners, in which he was expected to eat a balanced meal and talk about his day, so he kept to his room. At school, he kept his head down and stayed quiet. And he constantly felt a churning guilt in his stomach about blowing off Jughead. But he didn’t know how to be the Chic he was expected to be when everything around him was falling apart.

Today was the boiling point. Chic cut out of school after lunch, unable to stand another second of Jason staring at the back of his head. He called Mr. Andrews and made his excuses for avoiding Jughead, wrote a note for his sisters not to bother him, and flopped down on his bed. A constant vibrating from his pocket made it impossible to mope in peace, so Chic pulled his phone out with every intention of throwing it against the wall.

He almost didn’t read the messages from Jason, sent from his front door and asking to be let in. He almost didn’t open the door to reveal Jason standing there, looking as tired and worn as he felt. And he almost didn’t let him in.

But then Jason started talking—about his parents and the pressure to live up to their standards, about his little sister and the protectiveness he feels for her, about his feelings for Chic and the fear the rests between his eyes all the time—and Chic pulled him in over the threshold. Searing kisses and desperate touches propelled them up the stairs to Chic’s room, where they made promises and apologies between gasping breaths and sighs of relief.

They lay in Chic’s bed, talking and kissing until they exhausted themselves. Drifting in and out of sleep, Chic was amazed each time he awoke to find Jason still there. Still beside him.

Now, as he feels his eyes drift closed again and with Jason’s warmth beside him, he thinks they’ll be okay. There’s more to say and more to atone for, but they can rebuild. He thinks he hears whispering little voices outside his door, but he succumbs to sleep before the fumbling at his doorknob begins.

\--

Jughead stands in the doorway of Chic’s room, hands gripping the tray of soup. His mouth drops open as he tries to process what he’s seeing.

Chic isn’t sick. Chic isn’t sick, but he is in bed. He’s in bed cuddling with his friend, even though Betty said they were in a fight. Chic said he was sick so he could be with his friend in bed and not with Jughead.

Chic’s friend stirs and Betty yelps in surprise. She grabs Jughead’s arm to shuffle him from the room. Her movements knock the bowl over on the tray and hot soup sloshes over Jughead’s arms and down his front. In shock and in pain, he lets go.

The tray clatters to the ground: soup, cocoa, and pieces of the broken dishes lay seeping into the rug. “Jug! Come on,” Betty hisses as she grabs his hand and pulls him down the stairs. His raw hand stings in hers and he wants to yank it away, but he hears Chic moving behind him and Jughead tightens his grip.

Betty brings Jughead to the kitchen and thrusts his hands under the faucet at the stink. She turns on the cold water and he almost cries in relief. “Are you okay?” she asks, eyes wide.

“I think so,” Jughead answers, not sure if she’s referring to his hands or what they’ve just seen. “Are _you_ okay?” he asks in return, tapping her foot with his own. Betty bites her lip before opening her mouth to respond. When she does, no sound comes out.

Instead, Chic’s voice rings out behind them. “Betty! Jug, are you alright?”

Jughead tears his eyes from Betty to turn towards Chic. He’s standing in the entryway to the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and looking guilty. “I’m fine,” Jughead spits, surprised at the venom in his own voice. It takes the sight of his big brother standing before him, flushed and sheepish, to realize that he’s mad at him.

It’s a feeling that makes Jughead feel somewhat sick.

“Okay,” Chic sighs, “I’m going to clean up upstairs and then I think we should talk. Meet me in the living room in ten?” Seeing the wary look on Jughead’s face, he adds, “Please?” Chic smiles when they both nod and hurries upstairs.

Betty shuts off the faucet and Jughead turns back to look at her. She looks nervous: her lip is back between her teeth and her brow is knit worriedly. Despite the pain in his hand, he covers hers and gives a small squeeze. She blinks at him in surprise.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures her, although he’s not really sure what’s wrong—or if it really will be fine.

Betty smiles softly and nods. She leads him into the living room, still holding his hand.

 _It will be fine,_ he thinks.

\--

Betty and Jughead are sitting on the couch when Chic comes back downstairs. Betty hears him speaking lowly to Jason before showing him through the front door.

Chic sits in the armchair across from them, and Betty knows he feels as uncomfortable as they do. His knee bounces up and down, and he repeatedly rubs his palms against his pants. “So,” he begins, his voice higher than Betty has ever heard, “I guess you’ll have some questions?”

“Are you mad at us?” Betty asks. Beside her, Jughead looks incredulous. Betty will never understand him—isn’t he afraid of getting in trouble? Of upsetting Chic?

But Betty is astounded when Chic shoots her the same look. “What? Of course I’m not mad. Why would I be mad at you, Betty?”

“Because… we unlocked your door and we saw… we saw… you know…” Betty stares down at her hands. Her cheeks burn hot with shame. Her brother is going to hate her.

“I’m not mad about that, you guys. I know you were trying to be nice. Although, you definitely shouldn’t go around unlocking peoples’ doors,” Chic ends with a laugh.

Jughead inhales sharply. “Well why did you lie to us?” he asks accusingly, “You’re not sick.”

Chic looks at them sadly. “No, I’m not sick. But I have been feeling down lately. You see…” he trails off and closes his eyes, searching for the words. Betty wrings her hands together, knowing that her brother is struggling.

“I like Jason,” he says slowly, and a small smile ghosts across his face. “I like him very much and I thought he didn’t like me back.”

“We know what being gay is, Chic,” Jughead says, not impressed. “Why didn’t you just tell us?”

Chic looks hurt, and Betty feels an incredible desire to crawl into his lap like she did as a little girl. Instead, she asks, “Don’t you trust us?”

“Of course I do, Betty,” he says, and she knows he is telling the truth. “It’s just… I don’t know if I _am_ gay. And you’re my kid siblings. There are things I have to deal with alone, you know?”

Betty feels a painful lump in her throat; a pool of sadness opens up her chest.  “But Chic,” she says, fighting the urge to cry, “You promised to tell me if you were sad.”

She feels Jughead straighten up next to her. “She’s right. You could’ve at least told us you needed to be alone. We missed you.”

Chic leans forward and stretches out his arms, each palm opened out to them. He waits for them to each take a hand before speaking again.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you two. I’ve missed you, too. I just needed to some time to myself. Next time I’ll say something, okay?”

Betty instantly gives up the “big girl” charade and bounds over to her brother. She hops into his lap and immediately feels his arms wrap around her. Chic presses a kiss into her hair and Betty feels her nervousness melt away. _He's okay. They're okay._

“One more thing,” Chic says, “and I’m sorry to ask this of you. Mom and Dad don’t know about any of this, and neither does Polly. Are you guys okay to keep this a secret?”

Betty crosses her heart and relishes in the fondness in her brother’s eyes. It will be hard not to talk to her sister about this, but she’s a little bit thrilled by the idea of sharing a secret with her big brother. She turns to Jughead, thinking that he must be feeling the same way.

Instead, she finds him staring down at his lap with a hardened expression. “Juggie?” she prompts him. He looks up at her, and Betty feels her stomach drop at the hurt she still sees in his eyes.

“You okay with everything, Jughead? I’m sorry you guys had to walk in on that, but I promise we were only sleeping.”

“I don’t care if you have a boyfriend now,” Jughead says softly, “If you like him I think that’s cool. And I won’t tell anyone. I just thought you were going to leave us.”

Betty feels Chic tighten his grip on her. “Jug,” he begins, and Betty feels the emotion vibrate through his body, “I promised you on the day we met to be your brother. That doesn’t just go away.”

Chic cranes his neck to look over at Betty, then back to Jughead. “I may not always be a perfect big brother, but I am _your_ brother. I’m in this, guys. I’m not leaving anyone.”

Betty is relieved to see Jughead swallow thickly and nod. She leans her head on her brother’s arm, feeling lucky in the life and the family she’s been given.

“Now,” Chic announces, hoisting Betty off his lap and standing, “I believe Jughead is due home soon for an Andrews family game night?”

Jughead looks reluctant to leave, and Chic crosses the room and crouches before him. “We’ll get back on track, Jug, I promise.”

When Jughead cracks a smile and says, “Make it up to me at Pop’s tomorrow?” Betty feels a wide grin spread across her own face.

\--

Jughead is halfway down the front steps of the Cooper house when he hears Betty calling him from the front door. He turns to her as she hops down the steps to meet him.

“Juggie,” she breathes when she reaches him, “I’m in it too, just so you know. If you and Chic are brothers, then I’m your sister.”

Jughead’s heart clenches when he hears her say this, thinking instantly of Jellybean. When Jughead first met Betty, he was excited at the thought of gaining a new sister. Now, he feels guilty, like he’s replacing JB.

“Thanks, Betty,” he murmurs, and returns her pretty smile with a small wave. Later that night, after letting Archie win Monopoly, he lays in bed and thinks about his sisters. He wonders if Jellybean is awake somewhere and thinking of him. He hopes not; he hopes she’s sound asleep and happy in her new life.

When he wonders about Betty and if she’s thinking about him, he hopes that she is.

\--

Chic is throwing on a shirt ten minutes before he and Betty are due to meet Jughead for their walk to Pop’s the next day.

A pair of hands come to rest on his hips, and Chic leans back into Jason. “Stay,” Jason breathes into his neck, trailing kisses up to his ear. When he lightly bites down on his earlobe, Chic is tempted to give in.

Instead, he cranes his neck out of reach. “I can’t,” he reminds him. “I promised them. Plus, I hear your sister is being a little terror to Jug and I want to hear about it.”

Jason rests his forehead on Chic’s shoulder and groans. “Fine. Cheryl’s a tiny demon, I know. But it’s just because she’s insecure.”

Chic laughs. “Sometimes kids are mean just because they’re mean, you know.”

“Well, Cheryl’s not always mean. She’s just— “

“—usually mean?” Chic supplies.

Jason swats Chic’s arm. “Come on,” he says defensively, “I know Cheryl. Just like you know Polly, Betty, and that little weird kid.”

“Jay,” Chic warns, “don’t be a snob.”

“Fine, fine, I know you love that kid. I just don’t really get why.”

“You will,” Chic chirps, pressing a kiss to Jason’s cheek. “Now come on, you gotta get out of here and I have to go to Pop’s.”

Half an hour later, Chic is sitting in his favorite booth, sipping a vanilla shake and listening to Betty and Jughead chatter away about their first week back at school. Jughead is in the midst of a story about Archie falling of the monkey bars at recess, and Betty howls with laughter when he slams his hand down on the table to recreate Archie’s fall. Jughead’s fries fly from his plate, scattering across the table and onto the floor.

Jughead’s mouth drops open comically in disappointment, and Chic bites his lip to keep from laughing. Without hesitating, Betty pushes her plate towards him. “Take mine, Juggie,” she says simply, and Chic thinks that Jughead might burst with affection.

Jughead is munching happily on Betty’s fries, while she takes a spoon and steals a scoop of whipped cream from his shake. Watching them interact with such familiarity is almost bizarre to Chic, who feels like he’s watching an old married couple fix each other’s tea over breakfast.

Bizarre, but sweet.

Betty studies him for a moment before shyly asking, “How is Jason?”

Chic is momentarily stunned by his sister’s thoughtfulness. He shouldn’t be; though he often chastises himself for treating Betty and Jughead like adults, here they are behaving like adults. Their maturity, their wisdom—Chic wishes they hadn’t had to earn it through strict parents or a tough childhood, but he’s grateful for it all the same.

“He’s good, Betty,” Chic says, watching her hand Jughead a napkin to wipe the ketchup from his chin.

“Everything’s good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see, things will be okay! you know I love some angst, but I do love seeing our little babies happy. find me at chic-cooprs on tumblr if you wanna chat!!


	7. no burden is he to bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM NOT WORTHY. TRULY. I don't even know what happened. I ran out of steam on this story for a while, and I am very sorry. but it always sucks me back in! I think I am going to age them up a bit after this chapter-- writing them so young is starting to get a little difficult and I think that's where I lost my inspiration. I've also moved abroad recently and life is crazy but THANK YOU for your continued support. love you all! (note: no beta here so here be typos!!)

Betty wakes up early on Valentine’s Day. She carefully buttons up her favorite pink sweater and takes her time brushing her hair. Forgoing her usual ponytail, she pushes her hair back with a headband she swiped from Polly’s room last night. 

Her class is having a Valentine’s Day party today. Moms and dads have all been invited; her dad is taking the afternoon off to come. Betty can’t wait to show him her classroom and introduce him to her friends.

Before heading downstairs for breakfast, Betty peeks through her curtains at the house next door. Archie’s window is still dark: he always sleeps until the last possible moment. She smiles thinking about the mop of bedhead he sports most mornings. 

Next to Archie’s window, she notices light shining from the guestroom—Jughead’s room. Betty imagines him shuffling about the room, packing his books and pulling his beanie over his own mess of bedhead. She wonders if he likes Valentine’s Day.

_A day for flowers and hearts,_ she thinks to herself, _not likely, even with the candy._ Betty chuckles as she pads down the hallway, and her own house comes to life. Chic is whistling in the shower as she passes his bedroom. Polly sits at her vanity applying a coat of lip gloss.

Betty pokes her head into her sister’s room. “I borrowed this headband,” she says sheepishly, “I didn’t think you’d mind, since you have a million of them.”

Polly rolls her eyes and snorts lightly. “No, I don’t mind,” she says, “you can keep it.”

Turning from the mirror to face her, Polly brightens when she sees her sister. “You look pretty, Betts. Dressing up for your valentine?”

Betty flushes. “Of course not,” she barks. Betty likes Archie. She likes his red hair and his smile, she likes that he makes her laugh. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be her _boyfriend._

Polly raises her eyebrows teasingly. “Okay then,” she sings. “Do you want to borrow some lip gloss? I bet Jug would like it.”

“Jughead?” Betty sputters, “Jughead is _not_ my valentine.”

Polly throws her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” she says, “I just thought maybe, since he’s here all the time—“

“He’s here for Chic!” Betty’s brow knits in frustration. Just because Jughead likes to hang out with them, doesn’t mean he has a crush on her.

“ _Sure_ he is, Betty. You really think he comes around here all the time just to see Chic?”

“Jughead is my friend! And he’s our brother! I don’t like him like that!”

“I never said _you_ did!” Polly triumphantly exclaims. “I’m just saying that there’s no way you’re just his friend.”

“I am so! Why would you say that?”

“Because, Betty,” Polly says with an air of preteen wisdom, “boy and girls are _never_ friends. Not really.”

“That’s stupid,” Betty spits, stamping her foot on the carpeted floor. “I can be friends with whoever I want.”

Polly rolls her eyes with a laugh. “I know you can, Betty. I’m just saying, don’t be surprised if you get a crown-shaped card today.”

She’s yelling down the hall as she finishes, shouting at Betty who stomps downstairs.

\--

Betty broods over her breakfast. Polly shoots her teasing glances over her glass of orange juice from across the table and she glares back between spoonfuls of oatmeal.

Jughead doesn’t like her. Not like that. Why would Polly say that? What’s wrong with having friends—why does everything have to be about _liking_ people? Jughead is her friend. That’s all.

Besides, Jughead is messy. He eats all her snacks and watches television with the volume far too loud. He teases her sometimes, teaming up with Chic to push her buttons.

Archie is nice: he’s reliable, comfortable. Betty doesn’t think he’s ever made her mad.

_But it doesn’t matter_ , she thinks, _because I don’t need a valentine._

She’s packing up the heart-shaped cookies she made for her classmates when Chic finally appears downstairs in a red sweater.

“Hey Betty! Happy Valentine’s Day!” He presses a quick kiss to her cheek. Betty smiles weakly in response and Chic frowns.

“What’s got you so down this morning?” 

Betty chews her lip in thought for a moment.

“Boys and girls can be friends, right?”

Chic lets out a perplexed laugh. “Of course they can. You’re friends with Archie and Jughead, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but Polly said… that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I don’t… I don’t want a boyfriend.” She hisses the last word, not wanting to give her sister, or her mother, any reason to eavesdrop.

“Betts, you’re in the fifth grade. You don’t have to have a boyfriend.” Chic takes a thoughtful pause. “Or a girlfriend,” he adds with a smile.

 “I _know_ , it’s just that Polly says Jughead is only my friend because he likes me.” Betty stares down at the counter, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment and frustration.

“Polly is thirteen, Betty. She thinks everyone likes everyone. Jughead loves you,” he holds his hands up in defense at his sister’s indignant spluttering, “and you love him. You’re friends. That’s enough for now.”

Betty nods slowly. “Okay,” she says, more to herself than to Chic. “Okay. It’s enough.”

\--

Jughead waits with Archie at the end of Betty’s driveway.

“You look like Cupid threw up on you,” Jughead snickers. Archie looks truly ridiculous in a red turtleneck picked out by his mother, complete with new red mittens and matching scarf.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but still smiles sheepishly. Archie is so eager, Jughead thinks, seemingly about _everything._ It’s one of the endearing—and irritating—things about his friend. Even this silly holiday has Archie buzzing with energy. He’s holding a shoebox filled with superhero-themed valentines and candies for each of their classmates.

Jughead snorts. He should have figured that Archie would get into Valentine’s Day—a whole day based on smiling at girls and eating chocolate.

He declined Mrs. Andrews’ offer for valentines of his own. “That’s okay, Jug,” she’d assured him. “I know it’s not really your thing.”

It’s not his thing. He’s just not interested in this weird, mushy day. Besides, his parents never did anything to celebrate. No roses, no chocolates, no cards. Whatever treats he’d get at school from his classmates was brought home for Jelly. Jughead hadn’t even realized what day it was until he came downstairs to find Mr. Andrews flipping heart-shaped pancakes. He rolled his eyes as he scarfed them down.

Betty comes outside in a pretty sweater and curls, and Jughead suddenly wishes he had flower or a card for her.

\--

Betty giggles at Archie’s outfit as she reaches the bottom of her driveway. He tosses her a card from his box and Betty tucks it in her coat pocket with a smile. Her heart sinks a little when she notices Jughead’s empty hands. Burying the surprising sting of disappointment, Betty smiles brightly at him. “Good morning, Juggie.”

“Morning, Betty,” he returns. The trio begin their walk to school in easy silence. A moment passes before Jughead mutters quietly, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Betty internally blames her blush on the cold.

\--

Chic is in the library, searching the shelves for anything that might help him understand _Hamlet_ when he’s pulled roughly into a corner of the stacks.

Jason grasps Chic’s face in his hands, threading them into his hair as he peppers kisses across his face, neck and jaw.

“Not that this isn’t nice,” Chic struggles to whisper between gasps, “but aren’t you supposed to be in Spanish right now?”

Jason hums lightly in responses, dragging his lips across Chic’s.

“Did you really skip class to attack me in the library?”

“No,” Jason replies, pulling back sheepishly, “but I couldn’t resist.”

Chic kisses him soundly, taking his hands in his own.

“So what couldn’t wait?”

“I want you to leave school with me right now—”

“—and run away together?” Chic finishes teasingly.

“Not today,” Jason says with a wink. “No, I want you to come to the elementary school with me.”

“If this is your idea of a romantic Valentine’s Day date, I think you need to go back to the drawing board.”

“Shut up for a second and listen,” Jason murmurs, shoving him lightly. “The kids are having a class party today.”

“And?”

“Parents are invited.”

Realization washes over Chic.

“Oh,” he breathes, letting his hands fall, “so you think we should be there?”

“Well I know my parents aren’t going. And I doubt Jughead’s parents would even be invited.”

Chic beams at him, heart full. “That’s so sweet of you to think of Jug. But I don’t think Valentine’s Day means that much to him. Plus, I’m sure Archie’s parents will be there.”

“All I know is that my parents never come to this kind of thing for us. And I always noticed. If someone had been there, just for me, that would have felt pretty cool.”

Chic takes Jason’s hand again. “I’ll be there just for you,” he says leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks, you big sap. I just want to be there for Cheryl today. And I’m sure Jughead would want to see you there, even if he doesn’t care about the holiday.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Although I have to admit, I didn’t think we’d be spending our Valentine’s Day playing parents to our little siblings.”

Jason smirks. “Don’t worry, there’s still plenty of time left in the day.”

\--

The party is gearing up at Riverdale Elementary and Jughead feels an increasing sense of dread. It seems that his classmates have not yet reached the age of not wanting to be seen with their parents—families stand in little clumps about the classroom, chatting and eating sugar cookies.

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. On top of finding Valentine’s Day the most socially awkward of holidays, his discomfort is compounded by the presence of everyone else’s families. He thinks about Jellybean: he wonders if anyone’s given her a card today.

Jughead stands with Archie and his parents, lingering behind as his friend points out some recent artwork on the classroom wall. He catches Betty’s eye across the room where she sits with her dad, reading from this week’s chapter book. She gives him a wide smile, which loosens the knot in his stomach a bit.

Looking past Betty, he sees Cheryl sitting alone in the back of the room. His heart clenches in his chest, knowing how she must be feeling. He tries to meet her gaze, but she keeps it firmly down at her desk.

Mr. Andrews asks Jughead to show some work of his own, shaking thoughts of Cheryl from his mind. Jughead pulls his notebook from his desk, opting to share his latest writing project.

He’s turning the pages when he hears a shout from Cheryl.

“Jason!”

A flurry of red bursts across the room as she launches herself at her brother. Jason’s arms enclose about her immediately, tenuously maintaining a grip on the roses he picked up for her.

A flash of blonde appears behind Jason and Jughead is at the door before he realizes his feet have moved. Chic beams down at him.

“Hey there, Jug,” he says with a grin.

“What are you doing here?” Jughead asks, eyeing the boxes of chocolate in Chic’s hands.

“Yes, son, what _are_ you doing here instead of school?” Mr. Cooper speaks from behind him.

Chic looks stunned to see his father, obviously having forgotten to expect him there.

“Oh, uh, Jason and I got permission to come join the party here,” he stammers. Mr. Cooper’s eyes narrow in suspicion, knowing Chic to be a terrible liar.

“So you’re saying that if I called Mr. Weatherbee right now, he’d know that you were here?”

“Of course, Mr. Cooper,” Jason says in what Chic calls his very soothing ‘talking to adults’ voice. “It’s not a problem.”

Mr. Cooper looks as if he knows he’s being lied to, but turns his attention back to Betty, who gives her brother a wide, toothy smile.

Chic winks at her before holding out the chocolates towards Jughead. “For you,” he announces. “I don’t know if you have a valentine or not, but today’s a good excuse to buy all the candy from the drugstore.”

Jughead smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t have one,” he declares, “but I will take these.” He takes the heart-shaped boxes—a note reading ‘to Jug, love Chic’ scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in pink highlighter taped to the top—and gingerly tucks them under his arm.

Chic pops a sugar cookie in his mouth and grabs a cup of pink punch from a nearby desk. “So, what are you guys up to at this party?” he asks, surveying the room. Jason is hidden away with Cheryl, glowing with pride at his sister’s artwork. Jughead watches the way Chic smiles at the scene, and thinks he might now understand this strange holiday.

“Jug was about to read some new writing for us,” Mr. Andrews chimes in. “The newest installment of his mystery series.”

As quickly as it had subsided, the wave of dread returns. He had not planned on an audience. Jughead isn’t sure his little story is worthy of so much attention.

“Excellent,” Chic says with the characteristic enthusiasm given to all of Jughead’s writing. “You gonna give us a dramatic reading, Jug?”

“Absolutely not,” Jughead vows, flipping through his notebook. Betty bounds across the room to listen, and Jughead feels his cheeks burn. He suddenly isn’t sure he can read at all anymore.

He doesn’t like to read his own writing. When he shares it with Chic or Betty, it’s usually by dropping some pages off at their house. He suddenly feels very vulnerable, the classroom turning into a much more intimate space.

Looking up, he sees the earnest and open faces of the Coopers and the Andrews’, and Jughead feels paralyzed by their excitement. Was he really worth all of this?

A hand covers his tightly balled fists and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Take your time, Juggie,” Betty says softly.

Jughead’s eyes snap to hers and he is again overcome with the desire to give her flowers. Anything to embody the peace that she is.

Swallowing his nerves and a bite of Valentine’s chocolate, Jughead opens to the most recent piece and begins to read.

\--

“So how much trouble did you get in for skipping school?” Jason murmurs lowly into Chic’s ear as they recline in the back of his car at Sweetwater River.

“Grounded for a month,” Chic answers, “but it was worth it.”

“It was,” Jason agrees. “And how much trouble will you get into for sneaking out tonight?”

“ _None_ , provided my parents drank enough red wine with their Valentine’s Day dinner.”

Jason chuckles against Chic’s hair as he places a kiss to the top of his head.

“I have a present for you,” he whispers, and Chic turns toward him in surprise.

“You mean climbing a ladder to my window and sweeping me away for a moonlit drive _wasn’t_ my present?”

“Have you ever known me to keep things simple?” Jason asks, digging through his bag and producing a small wrapped box.

Chic’s eyes widen. “No, I guess not,” he answers, reaching for the gift.

A watch: with a simple but elegant leather band and an inscription in the silver caseback in small script. _With every second, I am yours. JB._

Chic looks up to find Jason looking at him almost reverently. “I love it,” he breathes, “and I love you.”

Jason sucks in a ragged breath. “I can’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t Cheryl told me that,” he says laughing through a small sob, “I love you, too.”  

Chic leans in for brief kiss before reaching for his own bag. “I have something for you, too.”

He bites his lip as he watches Jason unwrap the small leather journal.

“You said earlier that no one has really been there for you. I’d like to be there for you. But in the off chance you can’t reach me, I thought you could use this.”

Jason stares down at the little book, gently tracing over the intricate pattern in the leather. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for being so patient with me.”

“You’re worth it,” Chic promises. “This is worth it.”

\--

Betty hears Chic open his window and climb down their dad’s ladder. She pads out of bed and peeks out the window in time to catch a glimpse of her brother and Jason disappear down the darkened street.

It’s late; the excitement and sugar consumption of the day now keeping her awake. She flips her desk lamp on, deciding to read until she grows tired.

Looking across the way, she notices Jughead’s light on as well. His curtains are open tonight: she spies him sitting on his bed, hunched over his notebook. Dark curls spill over his brow as he writes. Betty is surprised to learn that he takes his hat off at night.

As if sensing her gaze, Jughead glances up at her.

The sudden eye contact floors Betty and she resists the immediate urge to shut her own curtains. Jughead rises from his bed and crosses over to the window. Betty flushes pink and she silently prays that he can’t see it.

Jughead just raises a hand in greeting, which Betty returns with a soft wave. He smiles sleepily in her direction; she grins back at him.

_Good night_ , he mouths, and moves back to his bed.

When he shuts off his light, Betty decides she feels content enough to sleep as well.

\--

The next morning, Betty tiptoes down the stairs to avoid waking her still-sleeping family. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she notices something stuck in the mail slot in the front door.

A manila envelope, her name scrawled across the front in Jughead’s familiar handwriting. She pulls the pages out, excited to find a continuation of the piece he read yesterday.

Tucked inside the envelope are pink flowers, pressed neatly between the pages of writing. Betty smiles. It's enough, just like Chic said; it's all enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how we feeling? what do we think? yes, we'll see that ladder again! the watch inscription idea is admittedly stolen from a family member, I just thought it was so sweet. I am having an absolute field day with Chic and Jason, and I hope that's okay. anyways, like I said, I think we will jump ahead a couple years or so in the next chapter. but we'll see. find me on tumblr at chic-cooprs if you wanna chat!! thanks for sticking with me!!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes/no? Let me know what you think! This fic will move through time a bit, spending more time in some ages than other I think. Any thoughts/ideas appreciated!


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